


run away with me

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mild Language, Miscarriage, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-14 08:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Run away with me. Let's leave. Tonight. You and me.Her offer isn't what he expected, but he can't refuse her.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> The last thing I wanted was another multi-chapter work in progress right now, so let's not call it that, okay? This is going to be a collection of drabbles and ficlets that will all be connected and will tell this story - not always in a chronological order. I've wanted to write a teen!Caryl road trip for so, so long and started more than once but I always dropped it before it ever became anything. This felt a little different, though and I'm looking forward to sending them on some adventures together.
> 
> Enjoy!

She corners him in the school's parking lot, red curls spilling out from underneath her black cap. He has already tossed his own onto the driver's seat of his truck, hand wrapped around the rusty door when suddenly, she's right there.

 

Out of breath with flushed cheeks and red eyes - she's been crying again. Dried trails tracing down over the freckles on her cheeks.

 

“Run away with me,“ she gasps.

 

“What?“

 

She seems livid, taking a bold step towards him.

 

"Let's leave," she says, determined. Desperate. "Tonight. You and me."

 

His eyes nearly pop out of his skull when he starts to understand what she's suggesting. Either she's drunk or this is a cruel prank because it makes absolutely no sense.

 

Under his black robe, he's starting to sweat, clothes sticking to his skin.

 

"Carol, the hell ya talk-"

 

"You said you hate this town, right?" she interrupts him, more tears beginning to gather in her eyes. "That you want nothing more than to get out of here. Did you _mean_ it?"

 

He shouldn't have told her that. But they'd been drunk and lonely and _shit_ , the way she'd looked at him with those big blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight. He'd have told her anything then.

 

But that was months ago. A lifetime. He can still taste the wine on her lip, though.

 

"I did," he replies hoarsely - no point in denying the obvious.

 

"So do I. I can't- I can't stay here," she whispers, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. He'd been the first one out the door after the endless speeches were finally over, all too grateful to leave this damn school behind once and for all. Now, people start to spill into the parking lot and he knows they'll eye the two of them with curiosity.

 

They shouldn't even be standing near each other. It's bound to get them both into trouble.

 

Carol wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the heat. "Ed. My parents... I just _can't_." She sounds miserable, her voice fragile like thin glass, vibrating and trembling with every syllable. "You have a car, I have money. Please."

 

God, the way she looks up at him. Like he's her ticket out of this shithole town somehow, like he has anything to offer except for the rusty truck that he barely manages to keep alive.

 

"Tonight?" he asks, waiting for her slow, cautious nod. "Where do ya wanna go?"

 

"Away," she replies quickly, throwing another nervous glance towards the school's entrance and the crowd pressing through the doors.

 

She's terrified and skittish like a cornered animal. "Just... away from here."

 

There's a pause filled with the steps of their classmates and their families making their way to their cars. Roaring laughter and muffled sobs of proud mothers. Carol looks up at him through her lashes, tears clinging to them like jewels. "But I don't want to go alone."

 

All he'd wanted to do was go home, order pizza with the last bit of cash left in the house and watch TV all night. Waiting for life to just happen now that he's free. Now that he graduated, now that the old man is gone.

 

"Why me?" he asks. "Ain't even really friends."

 

He ain't nobody's friend and neither is she. Not anymore. Not since she started dating that Peletier dick. Before that, she always hung out with a group of girls. Now, she's only ever on the guy's arm, paraded around the school like one of his football trophies.

 

The large ring on her finger glistens in the sunlight like a chain.

 

"Because you understand," she breathes, and the smile she offers him is so weak, like a fractured porcelain mask. Weeping.

 

He doesn't stand a chance.

 

"All right. Tonight."

 


	2. two

She wakes to the gentle, even rush of the ocean as it kisses the sandy shore. Foaming white as the small waves inevitably break.

 

Before even opening her eyes, Carol breathes in deep. Allowing the fresh, crisp air to fill her lungs. She's drunk on it, almost addicted. Wants to wake up like this every morning.

 

Curled into Daryl's side in the bed of the truck, their sleeping bags soft beneath them and a blanket tucked securely up to her shoulders. He's awake already, his hand feathering lightly up and down the ridges of her spine - something he wouldn't be brave enough to do if he knew she was awake.

 

And so she pretends to be asleep for just a little while longer. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

 

Eventually, she shifts, allows her eyes to open and just like she expected, Daryl's hand stops moving. But he keeps it against the small of her back, the warmth of his palm a gentle pressure through her shirt.

 

She looks up at him, his hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

 

"Morning."

 

His whisper is hoarse, but the smile he's offering her is real. By now, she knows the difference, and cherishes every honest curl of his lips.

 

"Morning," she replies, turning her head enough to catch a glimpse of the horizon. The sun is just beginning to rise, the sky tinted in warm hues of orange and red, sparkling like molten fire on the ocean below.

 

Beautiful.

 

The soft breeze is surprisingly cold and she shivers, nuzzling closer into Daryl. He doesn't tense too much anymore, doesn't always shy away. Now, his arm tightens around her a little more.

 

"Too cold?" he asks, always concerned and caring. It melts her heart just _how much_ he cares, how much he gives without even realizing it and she wishes she had something to offer him in return.

 

Slowly, she shakes her head, pressing her cheek to his chest.

 

"No, it's perfect here."

 

Her whisper bleeds into the ocean's murmur, quiet enough that she's not sure Daryl even heard her.

 

But he did.

 

"Yeah," he replies after a while. Cautiously, almost experimentally, his thumb begins to draw circles against her lower back. Warmth fills her veins, her cheeks glowing and she's glad he can't see that right now.

 

"It is."

 


	3. three

He never asks if she planned on telling him at some point.

 

In the end, it doesn't matter anyway.

 

 

 

She's been in the bathroom too long. Much too long. Half an hour at least and still he hasn't heard the shower being turned on or the rusty pipes moaning. The motel they found for the night has paper thin walls, so he would know, even with the TV turned on.

 

Something is wrong.

 

"Carol?" he calls, frowning when she doesn't reply. Slowly, he gets up from the worn mattress, crossing the room. Scraped linoleum floor and all.

 

Softly, he knocks on the door.

 

"Everything all right?"

 

Silence.

 

Another knock. More insistent this time.

 

"Carol?"

 

"Leave me alone!" she calls then, her voice strangely muffled - almost like she's been crying. There's a hitch in her breath too. Pained.

 

"What's wrong?" he asks, his heart rate picking up. Cautiously, he allows his fingers to hover over the door handle.

 

"Nothing, just go!"

 

There's despair in her voice, sounding almost shrill. Frantic. Through the thin door, he can hear her move, breath ragged and panting.

 

When she yelps, he doesn't waste a second, pushing open the door she left unlocked.

 

His heart stops a second later.

 

She's on her knees on the floor, blood pooling on the green tiles, soaking her gray shirt, smeared across her bare thighs. It's everywhere. It's so much.

 

" _Shit!_ "

 

He hears himself gasp, falling to his own knees and ignoring the dull pain as he crashes to the ground in front of her. Desperately clutching her arms.

 

Tears have dried on her cheeks, her eyes hazy and distant.

 

"Carol, what happened? Talk to me!"

 

He shakes her a little, pleading with her.

 

"He- He wanted-," she whispers, trembling against him. "He wanted me to get rid of it. But- Daryl, I didn't want to. I didn't- I don't know why... Why is-"

 

He doesn't understand her at first. Tries to make sense of the incoherent tumble of words until it finally dawns on him. His chest clenches painfully, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

 

Slowly, his eyes flicker down to her stomach, hidden under the too large, soaked shirt.

 

She was _pregnant._

 

For a minute, he's quiet, trying to process everything.

 

"Gonna take ya to a hospital," he manages to say then, his voice hoarse. Broken.

 

Carol shakes her head.

 

"No. Please." Her hands find his, slick and warm with her own blood. Squeezing. "I don't want to. _Please_."

 

He wants to argue with her, tell her she's lost too much blood.

 

But he remembers his mother. The two babies she lost when he was just a little boy. The blood that had leaked from beneath her skirt.

 

She never set a foot in a hospital once.

 

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs in defeat, his heart breaking at her weak nod.

 

He carries her into the bathtub, peels the ruined shirt from her until she's bare and washes away the blood on her thighs and hands. Skin turning from red to copper to pale ivory again.

 

After, he pulls one of his own shirts over her head, digs through her bag for another pair of sweatpants. Spreads a few towels over the mattress and carries her to bed. In his arms, she weighs barely anything.

 

"Stay," she croaks when he tucks her in and turns away, her hand finding his wrist. "Please."

 

He sighs, the sight of her sadder than anything he could have imagined. Maybe this is why she wanted to run away in the first place.

 

"I'll clean up, then I'll come back, okay?"

 

Weakly she nods, her hand limply falling to the sheets.

 

 

 

When he has scrubbed the last drop of blood away, his hands raw and skin cracked, she's already asleep. Quietly, he pulls up a chair, turns off the TV.

 

All night long he stays awake, listens to her even breaths. Holds her pale, cold hand and feels her pulse beneath his fingers.

 

 

 

The next morning, he takes her to a doctor in the next town, just across the North Carolina border. Let's her dry her tears against his shoulder.

 

His own heart breaking in two.

 

 

 

"Ya wanna go back home?"

 

Softly, she shakes her head.

 

"No. Do you?"

 

He pauses. Takes a breath. Tries to figure out what he wants.

 

"No."

 


	4. four

She shows up at his front porch that night with a large bag, a backpack and a handbag slung over her shoulder. Messy, auburn curls pulled into a high ponytail, reflecting the warm, evening sunlight.

 

He already packed his meager belongings into the truck his father left behind when he bolted last month. Clothes, camping gear, some food. Not much, but he prefers it that way.

 

"Sure ya wanna do this?" he asks as he loads her stuff onto the bed of the truck and secures it. She's leaning against the side, bare arms wrapped around her middle. Protectively more than defensively.

 

Only a blind man would miss the string of bruises around her upper arm, peeking out from beneath her white t-shirt. Like ink soaking into the ivory of her skin.

 

The nod she gives is determined, but it's obvious that she's nervous. A little jittery even as she keeps looking over her shoulder down the gravel road that leads up to his shithole of a house.

 

He's almost embarrassed to have her here. Even if all she can see is the outside. Falling apart and withering away.

 

"Did ya tell him?"

 

It's hardly his business, but he needs to know if Ed Peletier is going to chase them across the country and smash his head in cause he thinks he kidnapped his girlfriend. No. His _fiancee_. The ring is still on her finger. Large and shiny and probably worth more than everything he owns combined.

 

"I told him it's over," she replies, shoulders rising as she sucks in a deep breath. "That's all he needs to know."

 

There's a million questions he wants to ask but he knows he'd be overstepping a line if he did. They're not friends, after all. All they share are memories of that one night in spring. And maybe that meant nothing.

 

"All right," he mutters. It's enough of an answer.

 

 

 

They pass the town sign twenty minutes later, the weather report on the radio promising a sunny, dry rest of the week.

 

Every now and then, he catches a glimpse of Carol in his periphery, head leaning against the window as fields pass by outside in a watercolor blur.

 

Maybe they're making a mistake here. It's irresponsible, reckless. Stupid, even.

 

But somehow, having her right here with him and the empty road ahead of them... It makes his blood sizzle with restless excitement and a buzz of anticipation.

 

 

 

They drive until well into the night to put some distance between themselves and the place they reluctantly called home.

 

The place neither of them ever wants to see again.

 


	5. five

"You look ridiculous," Daryl snorts, eyeing her with raised brows and a smirk on his lips.

 

Carol narrows her eyes at him, tugging the hood of the blue cape a little more into her face. No matter how tightly she pulled her hair into a pony tail, a few rebellious curls are always sticking out.

 

"You don't look any better," she throws back, taking in the sight of him in the blue plastic. He doesn't have his hood on yet, and doesn't look half as idiotic as she feels. She's not going to give him the gratification of admitting that though. "At least now you're finally going to take a shower."

 

"I take showers!" he insists, crossing his arms.

 

"Not as often as you could."

 

That earns her an eye roll and she can't hold in a giggle, allows it to ripple through her body as she reaches out to link her arm with his. It still feels new. Exciting in a way it never felt with Ed.

 

They walk the short distance to the boat, the air filled with the chatter of tourists and the thunderous roar of the Niagara Falls.

 

"Gonna get soakin' wet," Daryl grunts, eyeing the boat suspiciously as they walk on board, the ground swaying and rocking beneath them.

 

Carol purses her lips, trying to hold back a comment she knows will make him blush. There's a family standing in line before them, though, three small children all clinging to their parents' hands. She tries not to let the imagine of that spoil her good mood.

 

There's no use to what ifs.

 

She leans in close instead, rises onto the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

"I never heard you complain about that before," she breathes into his ear. The effect is instant. Blood flushes his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears and his eyes blow wide.

 

" _Stop_ ," he mutters, a little baffled.

 

Carol just shrugs, proud of herself.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later she's laughing so hard her stomach hurts, water dripping from her limbs. Daryl looks like a wet poodle, hair plastered to his head and face before he shakes it off.

 

Laughing right along with her.

 


	6. six

"You're going to regret that," Carol muses, eyeing his plate with brows raised so high they threaten to disappear beneath the auburn curls of her hair. She's wearing it down today, cascading over her shoulders - a sight he struggles to tear his eyes away from.

 

With a grunt, he looks down at the plate in front of him.

 

Waffles are stacked high, dripping with melting butter, syrup and chocolate sauce, loaded with berries and marshmallows and whipped cream.

 

He sees no flaw.

 

"No idea what'ya talkin' about," he huffs, grabbing his knife and fork - ready to dig in. Carol laughs softly, inspecting her own serving of thick, fluffy pancakes with vanilla ice cream.

 

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

 

He dismisses her concerns with a wave of his hand.

 

"Where am I gonna get waffles like these again?" he asks. If anything, his portion should be even bigger. He'd barely been able to chose something off the menu in the first place.

 

This cozy little diner by the side of the road, decorated with fake flowers and little knitted place mats like something straight out of grandma's perfect dream house, offers breakfast food all day long.

 

Until now, he thought breakfast was overrated.

 

But the second he takes the first bite of his waffles, he's convinced that there's no better food in the world.

 

"That good?" Carol asks as he hums in delight, twirling the straw of her hot chocolate between her fingers.

 

He nods, eager and with a mouth full of food. "Wanna try?"

 

She nods, barley able to bite back a smile.

 

Holding out his fork for her, Daryl watches as she leans over the table. _Shit_. Bad idea. Worst idea.

 

He's granted a clear view down her shirt, the small swells of her breasts cupped by a pale blue bra, light catching in the dips of her collarbones and when he looks away, feeling like a creep for staring, he's met with the sight of her pink lips curling around the fork to take the waffle. Eyes fluttering closed. A hum escaping her own throat.

 

_Fucking hell._

 

He nearly chokes on his own food, feels all his blood rush south.

 

But then the moment is over and she sits back against the bench.

 

"That's really good," she says, oblivious to the thoughts currently racing through his mind.

 

Or maybe she isn't, judging by the twinkle in her eyes that makes him blush.

 

 

 

"Told you so," she says a few hours later, when he's laying on his side in a motel bed with his hand pressed against his protesting stomach.

 

Despite the ache, he doesn't want to give in to the satisfied smirk on her lips.

 

"Totally worth it," he chokes out instead.

 


	7. seven

"Oh, he's _so_ dead," Carol chuckles, reaching into the bag of cold but sticky popcorn they'd bought.

 

The movie sucks, plain and simple. This sun-kissed asshole whose name she never bothered to remember is currently walking down into the basement of the obviously haunted house with nothing but a candle to guide his way.

 

For no reason other than a mysterious noise he heard.

 

"Yeah, he's gonna get butchered," Daryl agrees, shifting his weight on the mattress. Even before that, his shoulder was pressed against hers on the narrow bed, but the friction as he moves sends a tingle down the curve of her spine.

 

He smells good. Like the body wash he used just an hour ago and something else that's just him.

 

It doesn't matter that the movie sucks. Being here, all pressed up against Daryl in a motel shady enough to be the set for its very own horror movie, is the only place in the world she wants to be right now.

 

"Carol?"

 

The sound of her name shakes her out of her trance, and she turns to look up at Daryl. Only realizing now that he asked her a question.

 

"Yes?" she replies, not meaning for her voice to come out as breathless as it does. But he's suddenly a lot closer than she anticipated, barely more than a few inches between them.

 

"Was just- was gonna ask if-," he stutters, eyes flickering down to her lips and his throat bopping as he swallows.

 

All she wants to do is breech those last few inches, fingers itching to slide against the side of her neck to pull him into a kiss.

 

Daryl never finishes his sentence. Instead, a questioning look crosses his face, briefly but plainly.

 

As shy as he might be, he's not oblivious enough to not see what's happening here. What's been building for weeks now. Maybe even before then.

 

"It's okay," she whispers, leaning in just a little. Her hand finding his where he's resting it against his thigh. One light squeeze is all the encouragement he needs.

 

His lips are just as hesitant as she imagined, but just as surprisingly soft as she remembers. It's been months, but every time she looked at him since then, it had been all she could think about. How gentle he'd been. How tender, despite his own shyness.

 

A sigh escapes her as she melds her lips to his, eyes fluttering shut. She barely registers the TV over the rush of her own blood in her ears, her heart jumping excitedly in her chest.

 

This feels right. As chaste and brief as it is before he pulls away again, it feels like the only right decision she's ever made in her life.

 

Unwilling to let him pull away and give room for doubt and insecurity, she presses her forehead to his, the tip of her nose accidentally nudging his. It conjures a smile onto his lips that's pure enough for her eyes to water. Before he misinterprets that, she kisses him again. Lingering as his hand finds the side of her neck, calloused fingers sifting through the curls of her hair.

 

Only a brief moment of sadness overcomes her when she realizes how much time she wasted clinging to Ed, when all along this could have been hers.

 

He pulls away then with a breathless whisper of her name. A gentle touch of his palm to her cheek that she leans into.

 

With a smile, she curls into his side, wraps her arms around his torso. Let's him hold her as the movie unfolds in all its predictable, gory glory.

 

She falls asleep before the end, wakes in the middle of the night with her cheek pressed to Daryl's heart.

 

Beating evenly as his hand draws gentle strokes up and down her back.

 

It's the last time they book a room with separate beds. And it's the last time she struggles to let go of all the what ifs that tormented her before.

 


	8. eight

It's a picture perfect day. Powder blue sky, the sun kissing their bare skin, a warm breeze sifting through his hair.

 

Leaning against the railing of the ferry, Daryl inhales deep, the scent of the water fresh and calming.

 

Carol is standing next to him, a hint of a sunburn high on her freckled cheeks and the tip of her nose. He almost wants to lean in and kiss it, that tantalizing dot of red. But he swallows away that thought as soon as it takes shape in his mind.

 

That's not his place. Not what they are. Why would she be interested in him anyway? Ain't like he's much to look at or has anything to offer.

 

"Look!" Carol gasps then, pointing straight ahead and sure enough, there's the Statue of Liberty, tall and imposing against the blue sky. He feels like a damn tourist, and maybe that's what they are. But Carol had been all too eager to come to New York City, and the more time he spends with her the harder it becomes to say no to her.

 

She's elated now, pink lips curled into a smile. Her hands are gripping the railing, and he finds himself staring down at her ring finger where nothing but a thin tan line remains to give away what she left behind.

 

His own hand is just an inch away from hers. So, so close. It would be easy to move a finger, brush it against hers. But it feels like someone superglued him to the damn ferry and he's too petrified to move.

 

A few curls of auburn hair tickle his cheek as the wind laps at them, and Carol laughs softly, tucking a strand behind her ear.

 

"Sorry," she says, smiling up at him.

 

Shit, her eyes are so blue, so full of joy.

 

"'s all right," he chokes, breathless and hoarse, and the timbre of his voice seems to catch her off guard. A look of surprise ghosts over her face, eyes flickering down to his lips for the briefest second.

 

_Shit._

 

He can't pull away, can't breach the distance between them, either. Shock still, they share a lingering look. Then, just lightly, he feels the flutter of her finger against the back of his hand.

 

That simple touch alone, light as a feather, sends a shiver through his body that's impossible to hide. Carol knows, the corner of her lips twitching with the hint of a smile before she rests her hand entirely above his own. Warm and soft and delicate.

 

She's so much braver than he is, but in that moment, Daryl doesn't hesitate, doesn't doubt as he turns his hand around - her fingers easily slip in between his own, a perfect match.

 

He doesn't let go as they watch the city's skyline in the distance, birds singing overheard and the hum of the wind like a comfortable melody in their ears.

 


	9. nine

She should be terrified.

 

Nervous, at least.

 

This has never been about anything more than pain and humiliation, and even if it wasn't, even if Ed had been in a good mood, it never felt good, was never about her.

 

She never understood the fuss about sex.

 

Until now.

 

Because she's not terrified.

 

She's not the slightest bit nervous.

 

Instead of cold and tense and ashamed she feels warm and relaxed and so utterly adored. The way Daryl looks down at her, blue eyes dark with desire and wide with wonder, makes her skin tingle and her core contract.

 

_He_ is nervous, there's no denying it. Trembles above her as she curls her fingers around the hard length of him to guide him inside. It's almost too much, the way he bucks into her hand, and for a moment she's worried he's going to come before he's even inside her.

 

It won't last long but that's not what this is about. Not for her. Pleasure is the last thing on her mind, anyway. All she wants is to feel the connection, to have his heavy weight pressing her into the cheap motel sheets and listen to the way he pants her name into the crook of her neck.

 

It's his first time, she knew even without him telling her. The thought is sweet somehow, and she wishes more than ever before that she had never given that part of herself to Ed. That she could share this moment with Daryl instead.

 

"Carol-" he chokes when he starts to push in, arms trembling. Even as she brazes herself for the inevitable pain, she curls her arms around his shoulders to pull him close and he falls into her with a breathless whimper.

 

Her hands are mindful of the scars he'd revealed with a tremor wrecking his entire body. Only allowing her fingers to ghost over them now as she tilts her hips up to take him in.

 

He pushes into her with one smooth stroke and a grunt that he muffles against her pulse point.

 

There's a twinge at the sudden movement, her body tensing out of instinct alone. The burn of the stretch a little uncomfortable.

 

But pain... No.

 

"Oh shit," Daryl groans, hands fisting the sheets next to her head, breath heavy and damp against her skin. "Can I- _Fuck_ , are ya- I need-"

 

"I'm okay," she whispers, surprised that it's not a lie. Her legs lift to curl lazily around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer. Deeper.

 

When he moves, she can't help but gasp, arching her back and clutching his shoulders. It feels _good_. Every thrust dragging the length of him against her skin in a way she never knew, her nerves prickling, eager, waiting-

 

And then he bucks into her erratically once, twice, three more times, rocking her up the bed a few inches before he groans and stills, throbbing inside of her.

 

He has barely caught his breath before he mutters an apology against her temple.

 

" _Shit_ , 'm sorry- didn't mean to- _fuck_ , that ain't how-"

 

He has pulled back, keeping his weight off her to the point that her breasts just barely graze his chest and she already feels cold, needs him closer.

 

Her finger against his parted, kiss-swollen lips silence him.

 

"You didn't do anything wrong," she promises, feeling him soften inside of her and mourning the loss of the fullness she felt. "I promise. It felt good."

 

He ducks his head, flushed cheeks and lips biting back a smile. "Really?"

 

Humming, she leans up to melt her lips against his, a languid, deep kiss that only stirs the fire in her core again.

 

When they part, Daryl pulls from her, fumbling with the condom for a moment - a frown on his face until he finally has it tied up and disposed of.

 

"Come here," Carol murmurs, holding her hand out for him to take and a few seconds later he's on top of her again, pulling the sheets over their sweat-slicked skin.

 

"Ya felt so good," he mutters, barely audible, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her collarbone. "Wanna- wanna make ya feel good too," he says hoarsely as his hand cups the weight of her breast.

 

He's eager, enthusiastic, dedicated in a way Carol never knew and her heart swells as she guides his hand between her legs and shows him what feels good to her.

 

When she falls apart a few minutes later, clenching slick and warm around his fingers, Daryl looks at her in awe, kissing the moan right off her lips.

 

He's ready to go again before her muscles have even stopped fluttering and the aftershocks are still burning through her veins. But she rolls him onto his side, hooks her leg around his hip and guides him inside her all the same.

 

Finally, she understands what the fuss is all about, and she never wants to be apart from him again.

 


	10. ten

"Ya sure about this?"

 

Carol shifts in her seat, nervously twirling the ring on her finger around and around in circles. It reflects the sunlight that's starting to heat up the inside of the truck. Parked on the sidewalk with the engine off, it's going to be a sauna soon.

 

"I am," Carol insists, albeit with a slight flutter to her voice. He knows she barely slept last night, the dark circles under her reddened eyes proving that - and he's still not sure she's not just a second away from telling him this was a stupid idea after all and they should head back home.

 

Just a little more than a day into their trip.

 

But she doesn't.

 

"I don't care about this," she murmurs, pulling the ring off her finger and resting the weight of it in the palm of her hand. "It's just- I don't know."

 

He has no means of understanding how she feels about all this and so he keeps his mouth shut, nods, and waits for her to make a decision.

 

It takes another minute before she takes a deep breath, visibly shaking, and then opens the passenger door.

 

"Want me to come with ya?" Daryl asks, and Carol lingers, one sandal-clad foot out on the street.

 

She turns to look at him over her shoulder, a faint smile on her lips that just barely reaches her eyes.

 

"I'll be fine," she says softly. "Thank you."

 

Then she's gone, just a flutter of blue dress and auburn hair heading across the sidewalk to the pawn shop at the corner.

 

Nervously, Daryl waits. Taps his fingers against the cracked leather of the wheel, staring at the glass door.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, she emerges again, an envelope in her hands that she holds close to her chest. She almost runs back to the car, cheeks flushes as she slams the door shut.

 

"Ya didn't rob the place, did ya?" Daryl asks with a snort, and Carol rolls her eyes, tossing him the envelope.

 

"Trust me, I'm not planning on turning this into a Bonnie and Clyde type of trip."

 

When he opens the envelope to peek inside, his eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

 

"That's-" he starts, looking at Carol who seems a little jittery. "What-"

 

"Where do you want to go first?" she asks, nervous all over again but with an edge of anticipation, of excitement, to her voice that hadn't been there before.

 

His mind spins as he hands her back the envelope.

 

"Wherever ya wanna go."

 

He blushes at his own stupid words, wanting to swallow them back down the moment he says them.

 

But then Carol smiles, all bright and true, and maybe that alone is worth the embarrassment he feels.

 

"Let's go then."

 


	11. eleven

She can't help but look at him. Disheveled hair, the top button of his shirt undone, bare arms flexing as he holds the wheel. A thin sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

 

A spark of heat shoots down her spine and Carol squirms in her seat. It's too damn humid in here, the insides of her thighs sticking together beneath the thin fabric of her skirt and the friction of that isn't helping at all.

 

She isn't used to feeling this way. Sure, she thought Ed was attractive when they first started dating, but she never felt like this. Never this needy.

 

The road is empty, the last car having passed them almost twenty minutes ago, and that thought gives her an idea. Bold and probably reckless but it makes her smirk and sends more heat pooling deep in her guts.

 

It's barely been a week since that first time in the cheap, rundown motel, but they haven't gone a day since without being that close to each other. It's addictive in a way she never knew.

 

Slowly, always cautious not to startle him, she reaches across the seat and rests her hand high on Daryl's thigh.

 

His breath hitches but he keeps the car straight ahead.

 

"What'ya doin'?" he asks, a little husky and a little disbelieving.

 

Carol just smirks, feeling powerful in a whole new way as she leans across to press her lips to his pulse point. Feeling it jump beneath her kiss.

 

"Pull over," she whispers, hoping it comes out seductively and not silly. Ed always told her she was useless at these things. Plain and undesirable. That she was lucky he even bothered to fuck her at all.

 

She doesn't want to think about that right now, though. Not when Daryl pulls over the car so suddenly it jostles them slightly, his eyes wide and a muttered curse on his lips that she swallows with a deep kiss.

 

It barely takes more than a few seconds before she has his belt unbuckled and her hand wrapped around him. Smooth and warm and hardening with every deft stroke.

 

"Carol- _fuck_ ," he chokes, so lost to her that it brings tears to her eyes. A part of her wants to take him into her mouth just to see him fall apart, but she has too many bad memories of that. Instead, she climbs into his lap, ignoring the press of the wheel against the small of her back.

 

Her skirt is hitched up a second later and she reaches down to pull her panties to the side, already soaked and uncomfortable.

 

She can't reach her bag from here to grab a condom, curses herself for not thinking about that sooner. She wants him so badly but that's not a risk she'll ever take again.

 

Not after-

 

She can't think about that. Not now, maybe not ever.

 

Instead, she lowers herself down until she's pressed right along the length of him, rocking forward. Daryl chokes out her name, his hands gripping her waist, lips mouthing at her collarbone.

 

It all feels too good, so much better than it has any right to. She sets a quick pace, grinding herself down and slicking him with her arousal, faster and faster and panting against his shoulder as she seeks her release.

 

When it hits her, she grows tense above him, back arched, thighs locking around Daryl's hips, fingers digging into his arms.

 

"Shit," Daryl grunts, no doubt feeling a fresh coat of wetness against his length, but then he pushes at her almost frantically. "Gotta- 'm gonna-"

 

Even though she feels limp, Carol moves back a little, sits on his thighs and reaches down to curl her hand around him. Slick now, which makes it easier to stroke him a handful of times before he comes with a loud groan, bucking into her, spilling all over her hand.

 

She slows down her pace, but keeps going until he's overly sensitive. With trembling fingers, he gently pulls her hand away.

 

"Ya gonna get our asses thrown in jail," he huffs, a blissful expression softening his features.

 

Carol leans in to steal a kiss, still feeling her nerves flutter from head to toe. "Worth it," she breathes, lingering before eventually, reluctantly pulling away.

 


	12. twelve

Everything about her is so incredibly soft. Feels so damn good. It's almost impossible to resist touching her. Trailing his calloused fingers along the pale planes of her silky skin.

 

She's spread out beneath him on the bed, bare skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The auburn curls of her hair are spilled across the pillow around her head like a halo made of rubies.

 

Daryl can't believe he gets to touch her. Gets to press his lips to the quivering muscles of her abdomen and ghost his fingers up her thigh, mapping out the swell of her hips and the dip of her waist.

 

She sighs contently, her hand buried in his hair. Blunt nails scraping ever so gently across his scalp and _damn_ that sends shivers down his spine.

 

No matter how sated and exhausted he feels, Daryl can't get enough of her. He never did drugs the way Merle did, never understood why he could never quit them.

 

He almost understands it now.

 

His lips find the swell of her small breast, creamy skin that's so tender beneath his lips.

 

But there's something else there. Something he hasn't seen before and it makes the blood freeze in his veins. Cautiously, the brushes his thumb over the circular, puckered scar just beneath her breast.

 

Carol tenses a little, sucking in a deep breath.

 

"He do that?" Daryl asks hoarsely, trying to swallow down all his anger at Peletier. The bastard is far away, will never lay a hand on her again. He'll make sure of that.

 

Looking up at Carol, the sadness in her eyes is hard to miss. As is the hint of shame.

 

Softly, she nods.

 

"Just that once," she murmurs, her hand cradling his cheek as he rests his chin between her breasts. "Just once. But he probably-"

 

She doesn't say anything else. Just allows her hand to trail down his neck across his hammering pulse point until it lands on his shoulder. The tips of her splayed fingers just barely crazing one of his larger scars.

 

He doesn't even remember why he was whipped that day. Eventually, there were no more reasons needed.

 

It's difficult, even now, to feel her touch him there. He's conditioned to expect nothing but pain and even though that's the last thing he associates with her, his body goes rigid, ready to bolt and hide.

 

He never knew anything but pain, humiliation, anger, shame.

 

Carol is none of that.

 

She's loving, caring, tender, cautious. And he'll try like hell to be the same for her, even though he never learned how.

 

"He ain't gonna hurt ya no more," he promises, leaning up on his elbows to kiss her. Slow and deep.

 

When he pulls away, she smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

 

"Nobody's going to hurt you, either."

 


	13. thirteen

It's magical here. Like a different world. On top of the lighthouse, they have a remarkable view all the way to the horizon, the sea spread out before them, glistening in the midday sunlight.

 

A fresh ocean breeze tickles through her hair and Carol inhales deeply, lets the salty, crisp air fill her lungs until she's dizzy with it.

 

It's beautiful. The quiet hum of the other people talking, the rush as the waves break against the rocks below.

 

"This place is just...," she sighs contently, seeking Daryl's gaze. He nods, mirroring her smile with one of his own as his hand reaches across the table to take hers.

 

It's bold, unusual, of him to initiate these kind of things. Especially in public. But it's a learning curve he's mastering more and more every day that passes.

 

"How's ya food?" he asks, nodding down to the plate of buttery soft, marinated fish and a bowl of steamed vegetables in front of her.

 

"It's so good," Carol hums, eyeing his serving of fish and chips, greasy and all too tempting. "How's yours?"

 

"Best I ever had," Daryl declares, letting go of her hand to pop another fry into his mouth. Carol chuckles, softly shaking her head.

 

They eat in comfortable silence after that, watching the birds fly past the large, opened windows. Her thighs still ache a little from walking up the winding staircase but it was worth the strain just for this.

 

For the comfort of this moment.

 

Everything she has endured seems to be worth it in hindsight, since it all lead to this moment. To a place by the sea where she can lean across the table to press a kiss to Daryl's cheek, where she can bump his knee beneath the table and earn herself a faint blush.

 

She wouldn't want to change a thing. Would suffer through it all again if it meant she gets to have this.

 

Him.

 

_Them._

 

 

 

At sunset, they go for a walk along the rocky beach, feet bare against slick pebbles, cold water lapping at their toes.

 

Daryl's pants are shoved up to his knees, her own just the same, and still speckles of salty water stain the fabric in a careless pattern.

 

With their hands entwined, they watch the sea bleed red until the sun has disappeared and the moon shines on the water's surface along with the stars like jewels.

 

He kisses her. Gentle and sweet, and she wants to tell him how much she cares so badly in that moment.

 

Three words on the tip of her tongue that might cause a shift. That seem too grand to speak right now.

 

So they walk back to the hotel, make love with the window wide open and the rush of the ocean muting their labored breaths. Allowing the breeze to cool their overheated skin afterwards.

 

In Daryl's arms, she falls asleep.

 

It _was_ all worth it.

 

Every single second of it.

 


	14. fourteen

“Daryl?“

 

There's a hitch to her voice that instantly makes him stiffen. She's sitting on the bed, legs crossed beneath her, hands folded in her lap. Hair damp, curling wildly around her face. Her cheeks and nose are red from the sun, the skin of her collarbones sun-kissed.

 

But there's hesitation clinging like a veil on her face. Paling her.

 

"What's wrong?" he asks, voice hoarse, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He wants to take her hand, but the tension between them stops him. His already thinly-spread confidence crumbling.

 

She shudders a little, sucks in a deep breath. Outside, rain drums against the window, thunder roaring every other second.

 

"We can't keep going for much longer," she sighs, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. For a second, his mind races down a dark path. Tells him she doesn't want to be with him anymore. That this was all just a dream that's about to come to an end because nothing good ever lasts for him.

 

It's bullshit, and he knows it. But still, his heart stops until she speaks again.

 

"We're almost out of money and..." Her voice falters, breaks. Tears glistening in her eyes. "We can't keep going forever. But-"

 

There's a sudden flurry of movement and she's in his arms, nearly knocking him backwards. He gasps, clutches her arms as she presses her forehead to his.

 

"Do you want to go back?" she asks, just a breathless murmur, eyes full of a tangled mess of hope and fear.

 

It seems like a redundant question. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he shakes his head.

 

"Do you- what do you-"

 

Her fingers dig into his arms, eyes cast downwards. Nervous. She's not usually like this. Is usually so much more confident than him. Sometimes, it's easy to forget she has just as many insecurities woven into her soul as he does.

 

"You askin' if I wanna stick with ya?" he asks, just as hopeful and afraid because if she says no it's going to crush him.

 

But her eyes light up a little.

 

"Would you?" she breathes, edging a little closer until the tip of her nose nudges his.

 

She must have lost her mind.

 

"Course I do," he rasps, pressing his lips to hers. Bold and urgent but brief before he pulls away again. "Wanna stay with ya. Don't matter to me where we go. Just- just wanna be with ya."

 

She smiles, all bright eyes and pink lips.

 

His tongue is dry, heart beating a million miles a second. But the words spill from his lips before he can stop himself.

 

"Carol, I- I love ya," he mutters, instantly looking away. Waiting for the rejection he's been so violently conditioned to expect.

 

But it never comes. Instead, Carol's hands frame his face. Her lips brush against his. Slick with tears.

 

"I love you, too," she breathes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Those words from her lips nearly make him crumble, seem too good to be true.

 

She yelps as he presses her against the bed and kisses her breathless. Feeling giddy and like a million bucks and so goddamn _happy_ he could burst with it.

 

Carol laughs softly, smiling into the kiss.

 

It doesn't matter where they go. Where they end up. They'll make it work.

 

Together.

 


	15. fifteen

Furiously, Carol blinks away her tears. She doesn't want to draw attention to herself and start hushed conversations and so she grabs her glass of strawberry punch tight and pushes through the crowd of people squeezed into Shane Walsh's living room.

 

If his parents ever find out, he's so dead.

 

The second she storms through the front door and out onto the porch, the late March breeze tickles her overheated skin. It's a relief in a way and she takes a deep breath.

 

It was stupid to come. She knew that Ed was in an awful mood after losing the game yesterday, she knew the only reason he came here was to distract himself.

 

Still, it hurt when she found him with his tongue shoved down Paula's throat in the kitchen. Grunting in that way that always makes her shudder when he's heavy and sweaty above her.

 

She should have known better but here she is. _Pathetic._ Just like Ed always says.

 

A cough startles her enough to make her gasp, spilling some of her bright pink drink onto the white floor boards. Turning around, she half expects Ed to stand there. Mad. Raging.

 

But it's not him.

 

"Daryl, you scared me," she breathes as she sees him, leaning against the side of the house with a beer bottle in his hand. Dark shirt and black leather vest. Handsome in that almost mysterious, distant way of his.

 

"Sorry," he mutters, taking a sip of his beer and staring up into the night sky.

 

For a moment, Carol considers just going back inside. Clearly, he's not in the mood for company. He never seems to be.

 

But something holds her back.

 

He doesn't miss it.

 

"Ya want somethin'?" he asks, gruff and low but entirely not menacing. Not like Ed.

 

She shrugs her shoulders. Takes a few steps forward until she leans her shoulder blades against the side of the house next to him.

 

"Not that great of a party, huh?" she asks, taking a sip of her drink. It's sickly sweet and burns down her throat, making her feel warm and fuzzy. A dangerous combination.

 

Daryl scoffs.

 

"Ain't nothin' great 'bout this whole place anyway," he grunts, face darkened by a frown. The moonlight reflects in his eyes - surprisingly blue - and Carol catches herself staring for too long. She never really had a chance before - it's a real shame.

 

"So you don't think this town is the greatest place on earth?" she asks, trying her best to sound dead serious.

 

But Daryl seems to be easily taken off guard. He turns to look at her, giving her the most disbelieving look she's ever seen and whatever poker face she'd had, it bursts like a bubble within a second as she laughs.

 

"I'm joking," she gasps, surprised by how genuine it feels when just a few minutes ago she'd been trying not to cry.

 

Daryl just grunts.

 

"Real funny."

 

The corner of his mouth, however, quivers and somehow, that feels like an achievement.

 

"Whole place is a shithole," he mutters under his breath, taking another sip of beer. Carol is pretty sure he's a little drunk, otherwise he wouldn't be talking this much. "Gonna get outta here as soon as I can."

 

He sounds determined about it and Carol can't help but imagine how that might me. Driving past the dreaded town sign and out into the world. Leaving this place and all the people in it far, far behind. Preferably forever.

 

A hint of guilt overcomes her. She shouldn't be thinking about leaving Ed.

 

But her thoughts wander.

 

With a sigh she leans her head against the wall, turns it to face Daryl. He's a lot closer than she realized, just a few inches between them and from here she can memorize the arch of his brows and the lines of his jaw, the faint stubble darkening his chin.

 

He's beautiful.

 

How has she never noticed that before?

 

"Sounds like a good plan," Carol whispers, her voice a little breathless, her skin suddenly too hot and tight. It doesn't help that Daryl seems to be frozen on the spot with surprise shimmering in his eyes and his lips parted on a silent remark.

 

In the end, she doesn't know who moves first. Who leans in and breeches the distance. The alcohol buzzes in her veins and she knows the same is true for Daryl.

 

But then his lips are pressing against hers, chaste and shy and softer than she expected. A sigh escapes her because a kiss has never felt like this. Never this gentle, innocent, sweet.

 

_Innocent._

 

It's not innocent.

 

Just as their lips begin to move a little more intently, she pulls away with a gasp. Fingertips pressing to her lips where she can still taste beer and cigarettes.

 

"I- I shouldn't-"

 

Ed...

 

She shouldn't have done that.

 

It's not right.

 

If he ever finds out-

 

"Please don't tell anyone," she pleads, still close enough to him to feel the warmth of his breath on her parted, damp lips. "Please."

 

Daryl looks a little conflicted. Surprised. Shocked. Perhaps even a little disappointed but she has no eyes for that now. All she feels is the panic surging through her veins.

 

"Please," she whispers again. Breathless.

 

Daryl swallows. Takes a step back.

 

Gives her a stiff nod and turns away.

 

For some reason, she feels more guilty now than she did before as she walks back to the front of the house, the thrum of the music inside vibrating in her veins.

 

She lingers. Turns to look back at Daryl. Bathed in moonlight. Looking lonely.

 

Just for a second, she imagines going back to him. Taking a chance.

 

But today is not that day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, a little flashback to bring their journey to an end - I hope you enjoyed these little snippets of their travels *hugs*


End file.
